“And you love it.” I pick my cracker tool back up. “Now let’s finish this, baby.”
13
Frankie
The sounds of an erupting crowd and concession sellers shouting about popcorn and peanuts stampede down on the ceiling above my head.
They’re just a dull roar, what with me working in the bowels of the stadium at this moment, but they’re comforting, nonetheless. Baseball games are my white noise, the thing I’d like to fall asleep to nine times out of ten. I even put on old reruns I have recorded if I’m in my bed alone. Which might be a weird habit if I ever told anyone about it, but it’s my single-girl behavior and I’m keeping it.
I’m doing paperwork, the part of my job I loathe. Everything else about my work gives me a sense of fulfillment, and even on the days where my muscles ache from doing reps with my athletes, I love it. But this paperwork bullshit? I hate it. Having to fill out forms, performance reviews of my staff, or benchmark assessments of where each player is at … I know it’s necessary, but couldn’t I dictate this to someone. I’d much rather talk about it than sit in front of my computer screen ticking off boxes on some form.
Another round of cheers from above my head has me checking the box score on the Internet tab I have open to follow the game. It’s only spring training, but this is my team. I care if they win. I also care how the guys are performing because it shows me what areas we need to work on down here.
Being in a quiet, dimly lit weight room is strange. Usually, this place is full of music, grunting, chatter. The lights are blaring and bouncing off the mirrors. As I look out into the main room from the doorway of my tiny office, where I sit at the computer, it’s like a mausoleum, and it gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“About ready to head home, Ms. Kade?”
A deep voice at the door has me jumping, but I calm down immediately. Because I recognize it. Sinclair walks into the weight room with regular street clothes on, and I have to tear my eyes away from the way his thigh muscles bulge perfectly against his blue khaki shorts as he walks.
“What’re you doing here?” My smile lights up the dim weight room.
He’s not supposed to be at the ballpark today, and I hated leaving him in my bed this morning. That’s where I leave him most mornings since I go in before him, and we barely spend a night apart these days. I still haven’t slept at his place or even been there. I try not to think about what that might mean.
“Volunteered to come in for Nick to cut this last piece of next week’s marketing videos that are going out to season ticket holders. Figured you were here, so I might as well be, too. But I’m done now, and I want to spend the rest of my weekend hours with you.”
“Mm, I’m almost done. Freaking paperwork.” My grimace doesn’t even begin to describe my disdain for the forms.
Sinclair walks around the weight room as I finish up, my reward for finishing my work meandering through my domain. I want to spend the rest of my weekend hours with him, too. What was pitched as a casual fling has quickly turned serious, and we’re all but living together. We barely spend a meal or a night without each other, and even though it’s been about two months, I can’t remember what I did with my time before Sinclair came into the picture. I don’t want to remember it.
“All done! I want you to take me home. To bed.” I smile to myself as I turn to shut off my laptop.
I feel him at my back before I can swivel in my chair to see him. His presence is imposing, the warmth of him at my back a promise, or a warning.
“Or I could fuck you right here.” Sinclair’s whisper is right at my ear, and goose bumps break out from where he makes the lightest contact with my skin.
“Sin …” I breathe his name like a blessing or a curse; I can’t decide which. “There are people everywhere in this stadium right now. No.”
“You never thought about what it would be like to ride my cock on one of those weight benches?” Those scintillating words invade my brain and make wetness pool in my underwear.
“I work here. We can’t.” I try to tamp down on the blatant desire he’s filling me up with.
“No one will come in here, not during a game. But if you want, lock the door, pretend you went home, be my guest. I just want you naked on that weight bench in ten seconds.”
The way Sinclair is staring at me, like the prey in his trap, I swear my entire body flushes with lust.
Maybe it’s the way those blue eyes have me pinned. Maybe it’s that I crave him when we’re apart for mere hours. Maybe it’s that I have, in fact, thought about having sex in my weight room. Everyone has fantasies about fucking at their workplace. And if you say you don’t, you’re lying.
That’s why I race to the main weight room door, closing and locking it. I hit all the lights. Then I race over to the bench Sinclair is waiting in front of and start to undress.
He snags my wrist just as I’m about to slide my meshy workout shorts off, my shirt already having been discarded seconds before. I’m flattened against his body, and then Sinclair’s hands are the ones undressing me.
I shouldn’t get fully naked, God forbid we get caught, but I can’t think or speak when this man’s hands are on me. He’s a magician, the way he can slide two fingers into me, fucking me with his hand, as he himself gets naked.
Before I know how he did it, all of those long, lean muscles are on display, along with his ass which I can see in the mirrored wall behind us.
Sinclair walks me over to a weight bench, one that is propped up into a sitting position. I audibly groan as he removes his fingers from me, my pussy dripping wet and burning with the need to come.
My hand is working his shaft, and I see the momentary flash of regret in his eyes as he takes my hands off him. We’ve barely been in here two minutes, and already we’re keyed up and ready to blow.
“Ride me,” he commands, sitting down on the bench.
My tongue darts out, wetting my lips as I stare at his cock. It’s swollen, long, and jutting into the air. It begs me to sit on it. I go to swing one leg over and mount him, but he shakes his head. “Not that way.”
My brain is fuzzy, clouded with my need for him, so I don’t compute. With his hands on my hips, he turns me until I can see our reflections just feet away.
“Like this. I want to watch you fuck me, and I want you to watch, too.”
I almost come from those dirty, dirty sentiments. Pulling me back to him, I straddle his lap and line my entrance up. The head of his cock brushes me and I let out a strangled moan. Then I’m sinking down, Sinclair’s hands wrapping gently around my neck and breasts to anchor me to him.
“Jesus, you’re so fucking hot,” he growls, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror as we watch my body swallow his dick.
We stare at each other in the mirror as I pump up and down on him in reverse cowgirl. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever done, and a whole team of baseball players could walk in and I probably wouldn’t stop.
Sinclair moves one hand from my breast to reach between my legs, rubbing the sensitive nub there. The moment he does, my flesh starts to hum. I’m on fire, pulsing around him and so close to the edge, but I don’t want this to stop. It’s so primal, so intimate. I’ve never felt this way before, never had sex like this before.
But one flick of my clit delivered from his fingers, and I’m a goner. The orgasm floods my system, robbing me of all five senses. I’m a nerve, pulsing, and my ears are ringing by the time I come back down from the high. Sinclair is pumping his hips furiously up into me, and I watch his face in the mirror.
His expression taut, concentrated, powerful. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And when he comes, the wetness coating me, I watch pure pleasure steal over his features.
I’m transfixed by this man and everything he seems to be able to bring out in me.
14
Sinclair
Having my family in town has proven to be difficult.
Not only because Dad and Walker seem to be
checking up on my job performance—I even found Dad in Nick’s office the other day, presumably discussing how I’ve been doing—but keeping who I am from Frankie has gotten that much harder.
There are Callahans lurking all over the facility grounds at all times. I’m surprised she hasn’t mistaken Walker, or one of my other male cousins, for me yet.
By some grace of God, she hasn’t. Or maybe she just doesn’t pay that much attention to the Callahans. It’s probably that, since she’s far too focused on her athletes and their strength training to keep tabs on the rich pricks walking around here.
Or maybe we’re just too intertwined when we leave this facility to notice anyone else. The moment the clock hits quitting time, I’m over at Frankie’s apartment. Or we’re going out to dinner or hitting up the beach for a sunset walk. We take weekly trips to Sanibel or drive into Naples and explore the zoo or the shops. Frankie has shown me around Florida in a way I’ve never seen it before. Maybe I just didn’t care about experiencing this place before because I hadn’t been interested in a woman who was so purely a Florida girl at her core.
I’m falling, fast and deep, for Francesca. She relaxes me, listens, and we have just as much fun out on the town as we do holed up in her bed for hours on end. I’m fascinated by her intellect, by the way she rises before the sun and wants to seize the day. Her dedication is the ultimate turn on. And being able to watch her drift off to sleep in my arms … it does something funky to my heart. In fact, the organ in my chest seems to be skipping beats left and right whenever she’s around.
And the entire time I’ve been down here, I haven’t once thought about drinking. She’s like the antidote to all my bad behavior; she makes this new version of me stick permanently.
How the hell am I going to tell her I’ve been lying to her? Because that day is fast approaching, and I know it’s going to blow up in my face.
“Hello, earth to Sin, you want some?” Walker smacks my bicep, holding out a stick of beef jerky.
“Sure.” I take it from him, munch on it.
“Do you want to come to dinner at our place? Hannah is making chicken teriyaki. And the girls miss you.”
Walker is in the process of adopting his wife’s daughters from a previous marriage to an asshole former Pistons player who used to abuse her, but that’s beside the point. Noelle and Breanna have brought new meaning to his life, and I spoil my nieces rotten whenever I see them.
Except I told Frankie I’d come over tonight, just like every night, to continue our Breaking Bad bingeathon. And I can’t very well ask her if she wants to eat dinner at my brothers’, since she doesn’t know he exists.
“Uh, yeah, let me check my schedule. I might have something else going on, but I’ll stop by at some point.” They live in their own mansion on the water, wanting some privacy from the Callahan compound.
“What else are you doing?” Walker asks suspiciously. “I hope you’re keeping up with your meetings, Sin.”
Of course, he assumes the thing that I’m doing is going to get hammered at a bar or party.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Frankie walk up. She’s close now, and I can’t have Walker spilling the beans on who I really am.
“Mr. Callahan, I will get right on that.” I cut off the conversation we’re having, taking on a faux professional tone.
“What are you doing?” My brother cocks his head to the side.
Shooting a peripheral glance at Frankie, I see she’s still too far away to hear his question. “Just play along.”
Walker looks suspicious, but thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut. Frankie is almost upon us, and I smile, hoping it looks natural and not like I’m trying to hide something. Then I flit a quick wave and take off.
Like a weirdo.
I’m aware, especially as the woman I’m … what? Dating? Fucking? My spring training fling? Whatever she is, she shoots me the strangest glare as I hightail it out of the lobby.
But I can’t have her seeing me with Walker. I might be the leaner, more wirier brother, but there is no denying that we’re blood related. Especially when we stand next to each other. Same dark features, same hairline from our mother. Plus, Walker can’t lie, not even for a good cause. Where I got all the smooth criminal charm, he was gifted with the honesty gene.
I’m not ready to reveal who I really am to Francesca. At least not who the world thinks I am. The woman, who I’ve known for just a handful of weeks, knows me more intimately than anyone else in my life. And not just because we’ve been fucking each other seven ways from Sunday.
No, I’ve opened up with her in a way I haven’t ever been vulnerable with anyone else.
Walker finds me minutes later, chasing me down the corridor I hightailed it to.
“Tell me you’re not screwing one of the most important coaches on our staff down here.” My brother rolls his eyes as he catches up with me, but I can see the typical disappointment.
“She doesn’t know I’m a Callahan. I want to keep it that way.” My voice is a threat.
“Sin, what are you doing? You can’t ever keep out of trouble, can you?” Walker laments.
My pride, and all of the progress I’ve made here, takes a shot. “Actually, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I’m here, doing the job. I’m even enjoying it, excelling at it. My nose is clean, I show up on time. Sue me for falling for a woman. I think I’m actually being decent, not wanting to taint this with my family name or all of the complications that brings.”
My brother looks at me with fresh eyes. “You just said falling for … wait, this is serious? You really like Frankie?”
I have to cast my gaze away. “It’s … we’re just here for spring training. And yes, she’s a good woman. Nice, fun to hang out with. Look, we don’t have to have some kind of girl talk where we braid each other’s hair and wax on about crushes. I like that she doesn’t know who I am. Okay? Can we leave it at that?”
The truth is, I don’t want to talk about how much I care about Frankie. I don’t want to face the fact that I’m probably in love for the first time in my life, and yet I have no idea where life is going to take me. The job for me will end here, and I’ll probably be expected back in Packton to start a new one. Now that I have this experience under my belt, I want to tackle some more responsibilities. And more than that, I don’t want to be lazy anymore; I don’t want to fall back on my trust fund. I’ve really discovered a new part of myself down here during spring training, and I don’t want to stop the momentum now.
So I don’t know where that leaves Frankie and me. I also have no idea how she feels about me. Sure, we spend almost all of our free time with each other, but this could just be a fling for her. I’m not strong enough to ask her to define it because if she says it’s nothing more than a few fun weeks, I’ll be devastated.
Not only does she not even know who I am, a Callahan, but she doesn’t know about my past. She doesn’t know how bad I am or about certain parts of me. Would she view me differently if she knew about the dyslexia? If she came around my family or former friends, would she run from the horror stories they could tell?
So yes, leaving it at that is the only option I have. Discussing it further, with my brother or with the woman I’m falling for, will only open a Pandora’s box that I’m afraid I won’t be able to close.
Walker looks at me, with a tinge of sadness in his eyes, as he nods.
And that’s the look, right there. That’s the one that anyone who has known me for a long time shoots me with. As if my life is tragic, as if I can’t get out of my own way.
Even though I’m trying to improve myself for the first time in forever, it seems I always take one step forward and ten steps back.
15
Frankie
Sinclair and I have just climbed into bed for the night.
I’m wearing his boxers and nothing else while he’s in another pair and pulling me into his arms as I pull my duvet over our heads.
“It’s been a long, long w
eek.” He sighs, burying his nose in my neck.
“Agreed.” I sigh, letting myself get wrapped up in him.
“Back in the old days, I would have gone on a bender after a week like this. But now, all I crave is you.” His hands tickle up my spine.
A pang hits me right in the chest. Not only because he’s coping with his addiction rather than feeding it, but also because I haven’t told him about mine.
It’s not something I discuss with many people, but like Sinclair, I still struggle daily. I think about relapsing all the time, about taking the easy way out. There are times I eat a meal and want to get rid of it. Still, oftentimes, I look in the mirror, and the dysmorphia is so bad that I want to get on my knees and bring it all up.
“I’ve been … ever since you opened up to me about your addiction, I’ve felt guilty not opening up about mine.”
Sinclair’s face changes, a look of surprise transforming his features. “But, you drink around me?”
My eyes cast down, a sad smile painting my lips. “Not that kind of addict.”
He doesn’t make his usual jokes, self-deprecating or at his own expense. He doesn’t tease. Sinclair simply lies here with me in his arms, listening.
“I have an addiction to food. Or at least, I did, before I recovered. It sounds like a fake thing, an addiction to food. But it really did rule my entire life. I was bulimic for most of my high school and college years. I’m not sure when it started. I think I saw myself in a picture one day, and thought, ‘Holy shit, do I look like that?’”
Sinclair goes rigid, and I see it when his jaw tics. He’s mad, or upset, or any of the number of things I feel now when I think about how horribly I treated my mind and body.
“I do remember the first time I made myself throw up. I’d eaten my mom’s sausage and fennel pasta. I felt so goddamn guilty, and I went into my little bathroom in our two-bedroom apartment and stuck my fingers down my throat. My eyes had burned and my throat felt like fire. But my stomach was … empty. And somehow, that control, being able to do that, it got me high.”
Check Swing (Callahan Family Book 3) Page 7
